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The ex-cook of Oxford College had preached so faithfully that many were already converted to Christianity, many more knew a good deal of the gospel, and crowds were ready to throw away their idols. They were weary of their heathen rites and superstitions. They were longing for something better, they scarcely knew what.
The sailor had too much respect for the experience of the ex-cook to disregard the injunctions thus given; and of hearing them, he at once swerved in the direction indicated, and "made way to de right" as fast as a man could swim with only one hand free for the stroke. Fortunately for all parties, the one arm proved sufficient.
There was a despairing tone in these last words, that told how fearful appeared their situation to the captain of the Catamaran; and the sign of assent made by Snowball in reply, an ominous shake of the head, showed that the ex-cook shared the apprehensions of his comrade.
The ex-cook, in the lead of those who ascended to the summit of the carcass, had some difficulty in finding his kitchen; but, after groping some time over the glutinous epidermis of the animal, he at length laid his claws upon the edge of the cavity.
It could not be a shark. Though there are two or three species of these monsters, quite as large as good-sized whales, the sailor never knew of their assaulting anything after that fashion. As they stood speculating on the cause of their curious adventure, a shout from Snowball announced that the ex-cook had at length discovered the explanation.
The ex-cook, unlike most others of his calling, did not like to see his fuel idly wasted: and therefore, in obedience to the thought that had suggested itself, he brought forth another flake of shark-flesh, and submitted to the flames, as before. While observing him in the performance of this provident task, a capital idea also occurred to Ben Brace.
The fiddle began again as I stepped away from the fence and went down to get my boat out. In three minutes I was afloat, and a stroke or two brought me to the ship's ladder. Annie and Tubal Cain stood at the top to welcome me. But if I had felt no incongruity in paying this respectful visit to my ex-cook and her lover, I own that her appearance made me stare.
"I'll resk it," said Dan, with a brotherly grin, as Harvey dismounted and asked whether he were coming in. "That's what I took the cable fer; but, say, is the doctor anywheres araound? I'll draown that crazy nigger some day, his one cussed joke an' all." There was a low, triumphant chuckle, as the ex-cook of the We're Here came out of the fog to take the horse's bridle.
In the absence of any fire, the ex-cook had no opportunity to exercise his peculiar vocation, else the meal might have been more palatable. The biscuits from having had a salt bath were a little briny to the taste; but that signified little to such sharp appetites as they were called upon to satisfy; and it was not such a bad breakfast, when washed down, as it was, with a little wine and water.
"Doan care a dam fo' neyder," responded the ex-cook. "I'se soon show ye, Mass' Brace, how we find vessel, big 'nuff to hold all de oil in de karkiss ob de ole cashlot, as you call him." "Explain, nigger, explain!" "Sartin I do. Gib me dat axe. I soon 'splain de whole sarkumstance." Ben passed the axe, which he had been holding, into the hands of the Coromantee.
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